


Blues of the Never

by AdessoFaSilenzio



Category: Eerie Crests (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, tw blood mention, tw confrontation, tw drug use, tw gore, tw heroin, tw needles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 10:36:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14353728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdessoFaSilenzio/pseuds/AdessoFaSilenzio
Summary: Alex and Greg get into an argument





	Blues of the Never

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure self-indulgence because I like pairing everyone in the EC universe with Alex. If you like this give it kudos or leave a comment, please.

Arguing with Alex in a kitchen, where he knew where knives and cheese graters and other dangerous weapons were, was never a good idea. Even when it was over something so inconsequential, like him needing to put the doors back on his Jeep, as the weather called for thunderstorms tomorrow.

Arguing with Alex in a kitchen surrounded by knives about his drug problem was probably the most stupid thing a person could do if they valued their life.

Alex wasn’t a clean fighter when it came to words; he used every tactic he knew to tear down the other person until they questioned their argument, their validity, hell, even themselves as a whole. And yet there Greg was, carefully watching Alex as he stubbornly refused to pause his massacre of a whole raw chicken for some Greek dish Greg couldn’t pronounce and didn’t understand.

“I’m not kidding. I want you to stop.”

Greg had the “privilege” of being one of very few people who could anchor Alex when he went off the deep end and started getting self destructive. Well, more self destructive than usual, which was saying something considering he was a heroin addict with a trauma list as tall as he was. When Alex was mid panic attack, with wild eyes and untamed hair and the perfect image of a frightened, feral animal, Greg could usually take his wrists (never his hands, as it reminded him of Alecia, and never further up his arms lest he aggravate the dark bruises that blossomed alongside the puncture wounds there) and tell him to breathe, and within a few moments the redhead had some semblance of control returned. When that didn’t work, using his body as a weight blanket and wrapping Alex in a tight embrace would. There had never been an instance in which neither of those actions had helped. This ability had made Greg cocky - he thought if he could break through Alex’s panic, why not also break through his heroin-induced numb euphoria?

“It’s time to face the world again, Alex. You can’t hide from it forever.”

When the butchers knife was set down and Alex finally looked up and made eye contact, Greg knew he had made a mistake. This wasn’t the same as talking someone down from a panic attack, it was willfully opening and climbing into a lions cage.

“I go outside every single day, Greg. I have a job AND school. Exactly what _life_ am I hiding from?”

He knew it was a trap, but he stepped in it anyway. “The one where you face your problems instead of pretending they never happened. Alecia is gone and Lee is dead. Let yourself move on.”

Alex stared for a long time, a curious look on his face, before he huffed out a laugh that was more anger than humor and picked the knife back up. It sailed clean through skin, meat, and bone, and severed a thigh. Greg was a little impressed Alex hadn’t just chopped off a finger. “Here’s the thing, Greg. You don’t get to tell me what to do.” This time he separated the wing from the rest of the carcass. “You didn’t stop me when I first got into this shit, and you _know_ you of all people had the power to do so.” When green eyes flicked back up to meet his own, Greg could see the accusation in them. Enabler. That’s what he was. Someone who watched his friend go down a terrible path and had done nothing at all to stop him. Had helped him, even... “if I want to numb my pain with drugs or sex or whatever the fuck else, that’s my decision. You’re right. They’re all gone. They aren’t coming back.” Greg could see Alex’s hands tremble with the words and instinctively reached out to cover the knife, blocking him from bringing it back up. It was wet from the chicken, but he ignored the gore on the counter and watched Alex as he slowly rattled himself apart. This was what he wanted. This was why he had started that argument in the first place. If he could just get Alex to admit he needed help, everything would be taken care of. They could get him set up in a rehab center that same night. Work with the school so he could keep doing his work there - he saw one of their counselors, she had to know he was on something, right? Hell, they could even talk to his boss. Alex talked about his boss like he was talking about a father much better than the one he had. All he needed was for Alex to come out and say it. He needed help. He wanted it.

“I don’t want your help, Greg.”

Alex sniffed like his nose was itchy and not at all like he was reliving the issues that had caused him to turn to heroin in the first place. “You and Noah and Wendy can all go fuck yourselves.” There was no longer any heat in his words, but Greg knew he had lost this battle. Disappointment and sorrow settled heavily into his stomach. How long would it be before Alex inevitably got his hands on a cheaper, dirtier batch than what he had now? Who would find his body, unconscious in his bathroom with the needle still hanging from his arm? He hoped it wasn’t his mother. God, spare her from the pain of losing both sons so preventably. And her grandson... but even his mom wasn’t a good enough argument to use. Greg remembered that very vividly from when Alex and Noah had come to blows and officially ended their fraying friendship. “I know what you’re trying to do, but I’m perfectly fine with how things are right now.”

At that, it was Greg’s turn to snap. He’d always been a man of few words, which made him seem blunt and downright rude, but sometimes it was the only way to get people (specifically stubborn assholes like Alex) to listen. He found himself almost nose to nose with the infuriating ginger across the counter, leaning over to invade Alex’s space.

“You’re fine with it? You’re failing out of school. Your mom cries when she sees you passed out on the couch - yeah, we’ve _all_ noticed. You’ve pushed us all away and we’re the ONLY people who care about you right now. You’re a fucking junkie and it’s gonna kill you. Get yourself together.”

Thank god he had the knife covered, because there was a good chance Alex would have thrown it clear across the room when he jerked up to look Greg in the eye again. They both had fearsome looks on their faces, Alex shaky but enraged and Greg resolute and steady. 

“Maybe I _want_ to die, Greg, you ever think about that? Maybe I WANT to slip up some day, take a little too much, and slide into death right where I sit.” He was trying to hurt Greg, and despite him being fully aware of that, it was working. Greg had some... complicated feelings for Alex that he wasn’t 100% comfortable with yet. Alex was unaware, but at times he seemed so sure that Greg was wary maybe he did know... And threatening suicide with the drugs Greg had helped him get into was so fucking hurtful. “But maybe I don’t cause I’m afraid. Maybe I don’t want people to think I’m a coward, like they say Malek was. I’d rather be an irresponsible junkie.”

“Why don’t you just admit that you _don’t_ want to die?” 

He was so tired of this circular argument every fucking time. So tired of Alex playing the victim when he was responsible for doing this to himself. “You’re mentally weak. That’s what it is. You can’t face your past so you convince yourself you want to die when all you want is to HEAL.” He pulled the knife from Alex’s hand and kept it in his own as he walked around the kitchen island. There, he tossed it in the sink so Alex couldn’t reach it and chop him into bits with it. He could get another for the chicken, whatever.

Alex was frozen in place, not having expected Greg’s blatant and spot on call out, not having predicted his actions to get closer. When they argued like this, he almost always retreated. He said they could discuss it later; he caved. Not today. Greg had Alex backed up against the counter before the redhead could really comprehend what was happening, and had moved in one action to bring his gross, chicken covered hand up to Alex’s cheek and kiss him. Right there in the center of his kitchen, when his mom could walk in at any moment (Alex never knew her schedule anymore, it fluctuated so frequently.)

Alex didn’t kiss back, but he expected that. It didn’t stop him from pulling back just enough to say “let yourself heal, Alex. Let me help you.” And kiss him again.

It was soft, and Alex was pliant beneath him when he did finally decide to kiss back, and Greg could feel wetness on the others face when he started to cry. Alex wasn’t as hard and cold as he made himself seem, just as he and Noah weren’t heartless jock bullies like everyone thought they were. He was a broken man trying to rebuild his walls as the bricks continuously fell. He was working against himself, and time, and nature - all of which wanted nothing more than to heal him and let him move on with his life. He just needed to see that the only obstacle was himself.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, one of Alex’s hands on the counter to his side and the other twisted in Greg’s shirt, pulling the fabric and staining it with watery chicken blood, but when Greg pulled back he was slightly breathless. Alex looked dazed and wasn’t meeting his gaze, but the anger had drained out of him and the tears that had marked his cheeks were already starting to dry.

“Let me help you.” He repeated, and this time, after a long moment of silence, Alex said “okay.”


End file.
